Begrudgery is often lamented. Sycophancy is seldom discussed, yet it’s far more harmful to democracy than a few bitter lemons. And fawning at the rich was all too fashionable in 2024.
In October, RTÉ television viewers were treated to a documentary about a tycoon who lives in Monaco. “Michael Smurfit: Succession” was an egregious example of cheesy wealth porn. However, as an advertisement for republican values, it proved quite effective. Whether that was deliberate is open to question.
For the documentary, Sir Michael – let’s call him Mick – agreed to be interviewed aboard his 50-metre superyacht. The setting gave viewers a sense of his lifestyle. The film also revealed much about our American-style slavish deference to the super-rich.
At one point, Mick reveals his surprise upon learning that the “Michael Smurfit Graduate Business School” in UCD would be called the “Michael Smurfit Graduate Business School”. There is no guffaw off-camera. No one questions that a State-funded university simply decided to name a large chunk of its campus after a businessman who had made a donation. And why not? That is, after all, how Ireland works. Organisations and institutions beg tycoons for help. When the latter agree to assist, they are showered with baubles and fêted as philanthropists. Rarely are such events subject to the scrutiny of a properly sceptical polity. That’s not how Irish society works.
To be fair, Smurfit is hardly the only tax exile who is regarded as a philanthropist for the ages. In Limerick, JP McManus, who until last year at least, was tax resident in Switzerland, is practically seen as a latter-day Mother Teresa. Whether it’s opening (and, eh, closing) a rugby museum at vast expense, or pouring tens of millions into a golf course (and adjoining hotel), or donating generously to charities or the community, there is no end to McManus’s largesse – unless, that is, you think the real measure of a man’s commitment to his birthplace is to pay all his taxes there.
There are, of course, some plutocrats who live in Ireland all year round. The loudest of them is another Mick – O’Leary – whose communications style can be characterised as one long brain-fart. From dismissing concerns about climate change as “complete and utter rubbish” to slagging off teachers, the Ryanair boss is the greatest source of verbal pollution in Ireland today. But at least he lives here, right?
The super-rich now enjoy a level of impunity that is frankly embarrassing. It has a distorting effect on public discourse. The media are frequently condemned for this – the likes of O’Leary certainly get too much attention – although there is plenty of blame to go around. Witness the laughter that greeted O’Leary’s jibe about teachers who can’t “get things done”. This occurred at the launch of Peter Burke’s election campaign. What happened next?
Fine Gael’s Burke topped the poll.
If our teachers are to be criticised, it’s for not doing enough to instruct us to laugh at the pomposity of the rich. Who can forget, for example, the fight for control of Independent News and Media, when two great men – Sir Anthony O’Reilly and Denis O’Brien – wasted hundreds of millions of euro? This pathetic squabble, in which every blow was recounted in microscopic detail, reminded me of Henry Kissinger’s verdict on the Iran-Iraq War. “It’s a shame they can’t both lose.” In this case, of course, they did both lose.
Speaking of losers, the media fixation with Gerard Hutch in the general election was due to his role as a gangland criminal. When journalists struggled to explain his apparent popularity, it was because they saw him through a moral lens. But if the Monk represents something in the north inner city, it is not just crime; it’s also the story of a local kid who became filthy rich. No matter how wealth is attained in Ireland, it continues to generate gushing admirers.
Big corporations are the subject of even more fawning coverage. Sometimes it is hard to distinguish between the article and the press release upon which it is based. Take the fast food industry, which is subject to almost no critical attention, despite the fact that obesity has reached epidemic proportions in Ireland, according to the WHO. How is the fact that the Ronald McDonald House occupies a prime position at the entrance to our new children’s hospital not a national scandal? As Professor Donal O’Shea told this newspaper, “We have an obesity epidemic that is driven by ultra-processed foods and this is advertising.” But McDonald’s is a big employer, and you wouldn’t want to upset the Americans, would you?
If we want to get serious about building a real republic, here is a resolution for 2025: let’s stop glorifying extraordinary wealth. Why? Because forelock-tugging is not cost-neutral. It undermines equality and fairness; it encourages social stratification; ultimately, it pollutes policy and governance. At the moment, this trend is reflected in the paucity of public debate about wealth taxes. If the trend continues, our society will be gravely damaged (see: Brexit, Musk, Trump et al) and our children will end up with the best democracy that money can buy.
Billionaires are insulated from reality. That is why some of them talk such nonsense. It’s important to laugh at such people – and also to remember that opulence is no buffer against folly. All great wealth reveals is that someone can afford to pay more tax.
In fairness to the super-rich, let’s treat them like everyone else.
Trevor White is a writer and founder of the Little Museum of Dublin. ‘A Little History of Dublin’ is published by Merrion Press
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